“It is a long and sad story, doctor,” said Orlando, evading the question, “and I have not time to tell it now, for I want you to visit another patient.”
“Another patient?” repeated the surgeon, in surprise; “ah! one of the natives, I suppose?”
“No, a white man. He is a sailor who ran away from his ship, and was caught by the natives and tortured.”
“Come, then, let us go and see the poor fellow at once. Does he live far from here?”
“Close at hand,” answered Orlando, as he led the way; “and perhaps, doctor, it would be well not to question the poor man at present as to his being here and in such a plight. He seems very weak and ill.”
When the surgeon had examined Rosco’s feet he led Orlando aside.
“It is a bad case,” he said; “both legs must be amputated below the knee if the man’s life is to be saved.”
“Must it be done now?”
“Immediately. Can you assist me?”
“I have assisted at amateur operations before now,” said Orlando, “and at all events you can count on the firmness of my nerves and on blind obedience. But stay—I must speak to him first, alone.”